


am I more than you bargained for, yet?

by myhomeistheshire



Category: X Company (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhomeistheshire/pseuds/myhomeistheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shot AUs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. interesting beginnings

Uni. Okay. Neil looks around his tiny room. Uni, he can take. The tiny, shared dorms, even. But _American_ uni? He sighs. This is going to be a fucking nightmare.

He’s already met his roommate - Aidan, an effervescent, outgoing kind of person who already is talking about the kind of parties they’ll be having. Neil considers going right down to the residence desk and asking for a new roommate, but he’s already handed in his damage deposit and signed all the paperwork, so the chances of the staff actually doing anything are slim to none.

He takes a quick look around for the list his sister had made him, but there’s no sign of it. She’d been adamant that he have some sort of organization to begin with - well, so much for that. He looks at his boxes - still labeled with things like _kitchen supplies_ and _christmas decorations_ from previous uses. Thinking back, he really should have taken Effie up on her offer to help him pack. But really, how hard can it be? He’s going to be unloading it all, anyways.

 

When the knock comes on the door three hours later, Neil gives up on trying to unpack. It’s useless, anyway - it looks a million times worse than when he started.

He manages to make his way through the haphazard pile of clothes, books, and empty boxes, and reaches to open the door. When he does, he’s met by a tall, lanky, and annoyingly attractive guy standing in the doorway. Right, right - Aidan had told him that his boyfriend might be stopping by.

“Hi, I’m Tom.” The man says in a voice that is probably meant to sound welcoming, but comes out vaguely disinterested. “I’m -”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard all about you. I’m Neil.”

“I was just coming to introduce myself.” The man says, looking mildly confused. Maybe Aidan didn’t usually talk about him to roommates he’d only known for a matter of hours?

“Hey, come on in.” Neil says, opening the door as much as possible with the amount of clutter on the floor. “I mean, if you can.”

“Are you sure?” Tom looks surprisingly hesitant. What, he thought he was just going to have to wait in the hallway?

“‘Course I’m sure.” Neil replies, and gestures into the room. Tom manages to muddle past the doorway, and Neil shuts the door behind them.

“So.” He says, suddenly self-conscious about the clutter. “Uh, Aidan’s going to be back soon, so -”

“So we should get started, then.” Tom replies, and before Neil can even comprehend what’s happening, Tom is stepping closer to him and his tongue is in his mouth and holy _shit_ -

 

“What the _hell?”_ Neil pushes away, after a moment. (Tom’s a handsome guy. Neil can forgive himself for a moment.)

“Is this not what we’re doing?” Tom asks, and he’s so calm and cool that Neil’s sure he seems like a bumbling idiot.

“No!” Neil exclaims hotly. Then, “what is _this,_ exactly?”

“So you didn’t just invite me into your dorm to have sex with you.” Tom replies, deadpan, and a wave of absolute mortification flashes through Neil. Oh, _fuck_ no.

“You’re - you’re Aidan’s boyfriend.” He stammers, backpedaling wildly.

“Aidan . . .” There’s no recognition on Tom’s face.

“My roommate.”

Tom laughs, suddenly - and then _keeps_ laughing, until Neil is red in the face and more than a little pissed (at himself _and_ at Tom). “Sorry, sorry.” He manages to swallow the laughter. “We just got our wires crossed there. I’m Tom Cummings - your RA.”

_“Fuck.”_

“Uh, yeah.” Tom reaches down to grab a folder that he must’ve dropped on the floor at some point, and when he straightens up to hand Neil a page out of it, he finally looks just the tiniest bit flustered. “There’s some basic rules and regulations on there, and we have a meeting tonight at five in the common room.”

“A meeting?” Neil’s lack of enthusiasm must show, because Tom shrugs his shoulders.

“There’ll be pizza.” He replies nonchalantly.

“Well, then.” Neil says a little too quickly, and Tom smirks again.

“Well, as . . . interesting as this was, I have other people to meet.” He says, gesturing to the door. “Although I doubt they’ll make as much of an impression.”

Before Neil can get past his mental block, Tom is shooting him a smile and a “see you around,” and walking out the door.

 

“Oh, fuck.” Neil mutters to himself again; no doubt he’s going to be saying that a lot in the next while.

 

He closes the door, and sinks back against the wall. _What_ a way to start off his first day. Not even first day, technically, since classes don’t start until tomorrow.

He closes his eyes for a quick second, and the image of Tom pressed up against him flashes through his head in vivid detail.

 

Oh, _fuck._

 

 


	2. hospitals and heart-to-hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Tom is a journalist and Neil works as a security guard in his building. (or, Tom gets injured and Neil comes to the rescue.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some (very mildly) implied abuse in this chapter, so skip this one if that triggers you.

_Fuck._

It's the first thing that rushes through Tom’s mind along with the searing pain. _Fuck,_ because not only is he gonna have to walk around on crutches for god knows how long, he had a date tonight, and it had taken him nearly a month to work up the courage to ask the guy out.

He glances down at his leg, and the way it’s twisted at an unnatural angle. Yeah, he should focus on the date, and not the _incredible_ amount of pain here.

He seriously contemplates driving himself to the hospital - it _is_ his left leg, after all, he doesn’t even use that one - but he tries to stand up and almost passes out, so he settles down on the floor and grabs his cell.

“Hey - Mr. T? Um, is there any chance you could drive me to the hospital? I tripped going down the stairs, and I’m pretty sure my leg’s broken. Okay. Thanks.”

 

It’s less than a minute before his neighbor knocks - and then Tom has to drag himself to the door, swearing profusely as he staggers over and latches onto the door handle. When he swings it open, he’s met with the slightly worried but mainly just exasperated face of the elderly man.

“You know, one of these days you’re going to kill yourself.” He comments, and Tom rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Can we just focus on getting to the car?”

 

It takes a while for them to walk over, with Mr. T helping Tom walk as best he can, and when they get to his van Tom manages to pull himself into a somewhat-less-painful position lying across the back seats.

“You ever think about getting something smaller than a minivan?” He asks once Mr. T starts driving, gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the bumpy road.

“You ever think about shutting your mouth?” The man replies good-naturedly. “Also, it’s been a whole month since you’ve come over. Mary was just about ready to drag you over by force.”

“I’ve been busy.” Tom winces as they go over a pothole. These _fucking_ roads.

“Too busy to have dinner with us? Christ, kid, don’t make me tell her that.”

“I have _work.”_ Tom exclaims indignantly, and the other man huffs.

“No, you’re just pissed that we had your folks over.”

Tom doesn’t answer.

“Y’know, it wouldn’t kill you to talk to them every once in a while. Your ma misses you, and so does Cecey.”

“How’s my dad doing?” Tom bites viciously. He hasn’t talked to his family in three years - he’s not about to start now. There’s a long sigh from the front seat.

“Fine.” Mr. T mutters. “But don’t say I didn’t try.”

 

They pull into the hospital parking lot ten minutes later, and repeat the awkward process of Tom trying to hobble his way to the doors.

“Watch your fucking mouth, kid.” Mr. T snarks after he lets out a particularly creative string of curses, and Tom lets out a strangled laugh.

“Yes, sir.” He mumbles. And then, _finally,_ he can sit down. Mr. T heads over to talk to the receptionist, and he leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

Okay, so this is fine. He’s been through worse - jesus, it’s just _one bone._ He’s losing his edge. (The shit-talking doesn’t take his mind off the pain, but it does make him feel a little better.)

 

“Okay, kid.” Tom opens his eyes and Mr. T is standing in front of him with a nurse. “There’s a bit of a line up -”

“That’s fine, there always is.” Tom rubs his eyes and offers up a wry grin. “I’ll be good, Mr. T. Go home, I know you have work to do.”

“Alright.” The elderly man agrees reluctantly. “But you call me if you need anything, hear?”

“Got it.”

 

The triage nurse goes through the usual drill - vitals, questions, pain level assessment (Tom lies a little about this - he’s fairly certain he has a few bruised ribs, but he _really_ doesn’t want to have to stay in the hospital overnight), and then he’s left alone with his thoughts and too much empty time on his hands.

 

Time - shit. He needs to call his date. Fuck, he was supposed to be there _right now._ He awkwardly maneuvers his phone out of his pocket, and dials the number.

“Yeah.” The voice on the other end sounds only mildly pissed, which Tom takes as a good sign.

“Neil? It’s Tom. Hey, um, I’m really sorry to do this - but I have to cancel.”

“You have to cancel.” Neil sounds more pissed, now - which, okay, he should be.

“Listen, I’m really sorry.” Tom stammers. “I tripped down a flight of stairs, and I’m stuck in the ER -”

“What?” Immediately, Neil’s voice takes on a worried tinge.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine; I think I just broke my leg. But, anyway, I’m gonna be stuck here for a while -”

“Can I come down and meet you there?”

It takes Tom a second to register. “You want to come sit in the hospital?”

“We’d still be able to talk,” Neil replies.

“Well, yeah, I mean, if you want to . . . but there’s no guarantees on how long I’ll be here. The nurse said three hours, so it’ll probably be closer to five . . .”

“That’s fine. I’ll be right down.”

Neil hangs up, and Tom stares at his phone for a second before setting it down. Okay, so this is different.

He goes to put his phone back in his pocket, and winces as a spike of pain shoots through his head. Fine, so he might have a concussion too. Whatever. He knows how to deal with it.

 

 

“Well, you look like hell.” Tom opens his eyes a few minutes later (he can’t really tell time right now,) to see Neil standing in front of him.

“Hey, this face is a thing of beauty.” He murmurs, pulling himself into more of a sitting position.

“You have a black eye, is all.” Neil says with a faint smile, as he settles into the chair beside Tom.

“Sorry about the last-minute cancellation.” Tom says, bracing himself on the chair. It’s getting minorly painful to breathe when he isn’t sitting the the proper position. “Were you already at the restaurant?”

“Yeah.” Neil shrugs. “It’s fine, though - ’s not like there was anything you could do about it.” He leans in a little closer, and Tom tries his best not to focus on this fact (he’s having enough trouble breathing as is). “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Tom forces a grin. “I’m terrific.”

“Do you need any painkillers? An ice pack?” Neil’s worried face is adorable. Okay, nope. Breathing. _Breathing._

“Nah, I’m good.” He replies, and this time the smile is a little more realistic. “I’m a perpetual klutz. I’m used to it.”

“Okay.” Neil doesn’t look convinced. “Just let me know if that changes.”

 

“So.” Tom mutters, once he’s gotten his breathing back under control. “Tell me about yourself.”

Neil shrugs. “There isn’t really anything to tell.”

“Oh, _come_ on.” Tom replies with a quick grin. “I spent an entire month making awkward small talk in the lobby; give me something to work with.”

Neil sighs. “Alright. I grew up in Yorkshire, worked in London as a cop for a couple years -”

“Wait, you were a cop?” Tom straightens up a little. “What made you decide to come to the US and work security? It can’t be more interesting.”

Neil clears his throat. “There was - an accident. My family didn’t live in a great area of town, they caught caught in the middle of a gang fight.” He stops, looks down at his clenched hands. “They, uh - they didn’t make it out.”

“Oh my god.” Tom is suddenly profusely sorry for bringing up the subject. Jesus, no _wonder_ he didn’t want to talk about his past.

“It’s fine.” Neil finally looks back up at him with a wry smile. “I don’t, uh - I don’t usually talk about that on the first date, sorry.”

“Are we still calling this a date, even though we’re stuck in a hospital?” Tom muses, and Neil shrugs.

“If it makes it any better, this isn’t anywhere close to the worst date I’ve been on.”

“No kidding?” Tom grins. “C’mon, tell me about the rest.”

“Fucking hell.” Neil groans, but Tom can see the corners of his lips turning up. “Okay; so the first one happened when I was in high school. We were going to an amusement park, and the guy insists on jumping on the first spinning ride - throws up all over me right after we get off.”

“No way.” Tom’s laughing, even though it hurts.

“Or the time I asked out a guy from my boxing club, and he showed up to the restaurant forty minutes late, inhaled his food, and ran off when he was finished - leaving me with the bill, obviously.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding.” Tom replies with a short laugh. “And hey - you took boxing?”

Neil shrugs. “I was pretty into martial arts when I was younger. Boxing, muay thai, karate - everything I could fit into my schedule, basically.”

“Wow.” Tom says again, taking in the information. God, like he needs  _more_ reasons to fall for the guy.

“So if I ever need - ” he breaks off as a round of coughing hits him. Once it passes, he shakes his head a little to clear it, and goes back to where he left off. “So if I ever need someone’s ass kicked, you’re the guy to call?”

Neil doesn’t answer, instead grabbing Tom’s arm and stretching it out. “What -” Tom starts, then stops once he sees what Neil’s looking at - the crook of his elbow is splattered with blood from where he’d coughed into it.

“Stay right here.” Neil says immediately, and if Tom could breathe properly he would definitely be making a quip about oh, no, he might go for a little stroll -

Neil manages to find a nurse, who rushes over to where Tom’s all but curled up in the fetal position. And he feels a little woozy, but he’s pretty sure she’s asking him something - maybe he’s answering, he can’t tell. And then he’s being lifted in strong arms (he’s not so out of it that he doesn’t notice that they’re Neil’s) and carried to a gurney, and the world is spinning and flickering in and out of focus -

He’s not really sure what happens for the next few hours. He hears Neil’s voice, _it’s okay, you’re going to be okay_ ; and he focuses on that instead of the overwhelming pain.

 

He passes out at some point, and when he wakes up he’s in a hospital bed, and Neil’s sitting in the chair next to him.

“Hey.” He murmurs, going to sit up - and stopping when his head immediately starts spinning. “Why doesn’ it hurt?”

“They’ve got you on a lot of painkillers.” Neil replies, and he attempts a smile but it doesn’t quite work. “I didn’t catch all of it, but the doctor said something about broken ribs, and a punctured lung - and maybe a concussion -”

“Mmkay.” Tom mutters, and _fuck,_ those drugs are really something. “Cool.”

 _“Cool?”_ Neil demands, his tone tinged with exasperation. “You could’ve _died.”_

“Yeah. Kinda shitty thing to do on a first date.” Tom replies, and Neil rolls his eyes.

“I thought we weren’t calling this a date.”

“But think of what a good story it makes.” Tom replies with a grin. “So much better than the bowling - boxing . . .”

Neil chuckles under his breath. “Don’t hurt yourself.” He says wryly. “More, at least.”

“No, sir.” Tom replies with a salute that somehow doesn’t end up at his forehead. “So - this is a date? ‘Cause I kind of want it to be. I mean, you’re here, and I’m here, and you are looking _stunningly_ attractive for someone who’s been in a hospital for . . . for _days.”_

Neil starts laughing, lifting a hand up to his forehead. Tom’s fairly sure he’s blushing. “It’s only been a couple of hours, and I’m really not - how much morphine did they give you, exactly?”

“Soooo much.” Tom slurs, trying to focus on Neil even though the room just started spinning. “Everything feels warm. Too warm. Can it be less warm?” He throws off the blanket, and starts reaching to pull the hospital gown over his head.

“Hey - hey!” Neil looks mildly alarmed as he reaches over to grab Tom’s wrists. “How about you keep you clothes on for now, okay?”

“Okay.” Tom agrees, settling back down onto the bed. “Okay, but jus’ - for now. It’s still warm.” Neil lets go of his wrists, but Tom reaches out to grab his hand. “You smell nice.” He murmurs, letting his eyes drift shut. He would stare at Neil longer if he could, but his eyelids are _so_ heavy.

“Get some sleep,” he hears Neil say, and the last thing he remembers before he drifts off is the feeling of Neil’s fingers laced through his.

 

  
(He wakes up to complete mortification; but Neil’s there, and he still wants to go out for dinner. So really, it could be worse.)


	3. here's my hope, my tired soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fake Engagement AU. It seems like a good idea, at the time.

When they start the “engagement”, it seems like a good idea.

 

“Yeah, my parents are kind of being fuckheads.” Neil says, scratching the back of his head. “I kind of insinuated I’m seeing someone, and now they won’t get off my backs about when they get to meet him, when we’re thinking of marriage - it’s like a fucking firing squad.”

“What if we pretend we’re dating?” Tom murmurs from the couch, and at first he says it as a joke, but then suddenly it makes sense. He sits up straighter. “No, seriously. My parents barely even talk to me but they’re _still_ on my case all the time. We pretend we’re dating - hell, you can propose, take it a step further - that’ll shut them up for a while.”

“And when they expect to get invited to an actual _wedding?”_ Neil asks, unimpressed.

“Oh, we’ll break up before then.” Tom assures. “And then we’ll both be so heartbroken, no one’ll bring it up for ages.”

 

And so begins the relationship.

  


It’s easy at first. It’s fine. When Neil tells his family about the engagement, they’re ecstatic. “We haven’t set a date yet,” he tells them. “We’re waiting for the perfect time.”

 

Only a few close friends know the truth. Harry rolls his eyes, and Alfred asks him if he’s ready for the repercussions. Aurora just looks Neil in the eyes and tells him, “I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t want either of you to get hurt.” He scoffs and shrugs her concerns off. It’s a stupid act that’ll be over before they know it.

 

They can only put off meeting the family for so long, so a few weeks later they go to meet Neil’s.

“Alright. How did we meet?” Tom asks, and Neil rolls his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter. We can just make something up; they won’t even ask, anyway.”

“It’s the _principle_ of it.” Tom insists. “I’m not about to do this half-assed. So, c’mon. Where did we meet?”

“Through mutual friends.”

Tom lets out a melodramatic sigh. “You are so predictable, Mackay.”

Neil tries to ignore the way his chest twists when he says it.

 

 

 

When they get to the house, they’re greeted with a few smiles and hugs and, once they settle down, Tom finds that Neil was right - no one’s going to ask them about how they met. The questions are all vague and polite; ‘how are the wedding plans coming’ and ‘I do hope you find a nice venue’. No personal questions, nothing that feels like a family should ask. When they leave, three hours later on the dot, Tom lets out a deep sigh of relief.

“Christ, Neil. You didn’t tell me your family was made up of icicles.”

“Only around company.” Neil says, and it’s a little too loud, a little too -

“Are you _drunk?”_ Tom asks incredulously, and Neil gives a hoot of laughter. Tom’s just plain impressed, at this point. “You are, aren’t you? But there wasn’t even any alcohol!”

“My mum always hides some under the table. Easy to slip out without anyone noticing.”

“And you didn’t even put any into my drink? Dick.”

Neil laughs again. “So now you’ve seen my family - what’s yours like, then?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Tom replies cryptically, before darting ahead of Neil down the subway steps, hooting like a child. Neil rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the smile from creeping up at the edges of his lips. 

 

* * *

 

 

A week later, they go to meet Tom’s parents. And it’s immediately apparent, from the tiny flat and the immediate noise that reaches Neil’s eardrums, that this is a very different household. They’re barraged by a bundle of children ranging in ages, all of whom Tom seems to know personally - despite the fact that Neil’s never once heard him mention siblings.

“The prodigal son returns.” A woman rounds the corner and stretches out her arms with a wry grin, and Tom leans in to hug her.

“Hey, mom.”

The woman looks over to assess Neil, and he resists the urge to straighten up. “So this is the fiance?”

“This is Neil.” Tom replies with a grin over at the other man’s (obviously, blatantly nervous) expression.

“Well, Neil.” Tom’s mother says with a warm smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you.” She gestures towards the living room. “I hope you don’t mind - we invited a couple people.”

“Mom . . .” Tom warns, and she clucks her tongue.

“Don’t give me that, _leanbh._ Just a few close friends. Don’t blame me if I wanted to share the good news, after we don’t see you for _months.”_

“Fine, fine.” Tom mutters. “Just as long as it’s only a couple.”

 

It’s more than a couple. There are tables crammed together in the kitchen, and some people are sitting in the living room - and in between bites of the most delicious meal Neil’s ever eaten, they’re barraged with questions. “Where did you meet?” “Who proposed?” “Where are you going to live?” Whenever another one’s asked Tom shoots him a look that says _see? I told you so._

Neil’s still a little reserved, but he begins to relax when he sees the way Tom interacts with everyone there. He’s joking around, laughing; these are obviously the people he enjoys being around.

There’s one man there, Aiden, around his age, that Tom seems to act differently around, though. Not uncomfortable, just - wary. _Different._ He asks Mrs. Cummings about it later, and she just gives him a sad little smile.

“Oh, _a stór_.” She says with a shake of her head. “Ask him about it later, alright? Let us have today to celebrate.”

 

The only damper of the evening comes when Neil goes through the winding hallways to find the bathroom, and overhears angry voices. He picks out one as Tom’s, and the other as his father.

“Can you just let me have one day?” Tom’s asking furiously. “ _One. Fucking. Day_. Can you get your head out of your ass for my _engagement_ and just not drag everyone down with you?”

“You think _I’m_ dragging _you_ down?” His father’s voice comes back, less angry and more spiteful. “You’re the fucking faggot here, kid. Don’t be surprised I don’t want you and your whore in here like it’s some special party.”

 

Neil holds his breath. If it were anyone else, he knows, Tom would have decked them. Instead, Tom bursts out of the room and down the hallway opposite Neil - not noticing him there, or maybe choosing to ignore him. Neil waits a minute before he heads back.

 

Tom isn’t in the living room or the kitchen when he gets back, and after half an hour Neil goes to find him. It takes a couple minutes of knocking on doors and poking his head into places he probably shouldn’t before he finds him. Or, more accurately, him and Aiden. Together. In a bedroom.

 

He closes the door before they see him, ignoring the way his heartbeat suddenly feels off, his lungs needing an extra gasp here and there. He walks down the hallway back to the living room and forces a smile on his face around the crowds of people. He doesn’t _care,_ obviously. It’s just kind of a shitty thing to do at their supposed engagement party. Anyone could walk in and see them, and then it would throw off the whole thing - and it’s _especially_ shitty since Tom was the one who suggested it in the first place. That’s really what he’s concerned about, here.

 

He doesn’t say anything on the subway ride back, and Tom finally turns to him.

“Okay, what’s happening here?” He asks, and Neil shrugs.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

Tom shoots him a wary look, but lets it drop. That night, Neil dreams of the way Tom’s lips would taste, and he realizes exactly why his pulse is still racing.

 

He kind of hates himself for it.

 

* * *

  
  


“Listen,” Tom asks Neil a week after the family dinner that set so many things off in the wrong directions; “I need to talk to you about something.”

“That sounds terrifying.” Neil mutters, but looks over at him attentively nonetheless.

“No, it’s not a big deal - I just though you should know I’m, um, hooking up with my ex?” It comes out as a question, and Tom mentally kicks himself.

“Alright.” Neil looks remarkably unfazed, which for some reason irritates Tom.

“Yeah? So that’s okay?”

Neil shrugs. “Don’t see how it would affect me. As long as you keep it discreet, obviously, for the time being. Who knows, maybe we can use that as our reason for breaking up.”

“Yeah.” Tom replies half-heartedly. “Yeah, that’d work out nicely.”

  


He finds himself at Aurora’s that night, and they make it through half a bottle of gin before he really starts talking.

“I hooked up with Aiden.” He blurts, out of nowhere, and Aurora raises an eyebrow. “And I told Neil about it.”

“Why’d you tell him?” She asks, and Tom shakes his head. It kind of swishes around when he does, and he immediately stops the motion.

“Y’know, he’s my - my fake fiance, and everything. Thought he should know.”

“You sure that’s all?” Aurora asks, taking another swig - he doesn’t know why she’s drinking, he won’t ask. Alfred’s been a little distant lately, so something’s probably happened between them - but he knows her. She’ll tell him when she’s ready, or she’ll never tell him at all. Ice Queen is an Aurora Luft specialty that he’s grown more than used to.

“What else would it be?” He asks blearily, grabbing the bottle from her hands. Aurora doesn’t answer, just gives him a knowing look. “Fuck off,” he tells her, but only after another drink.

  


He doesn’t realize until two months later, until Neil brings up the breakup. “You know,” he says, “we should probably get on that soon. They’re going to be expecting a date for the wedding, and we’ve been putting on the act long enough to convince them.” He glances down at his hands. “Besides, this way you can be with Aiden for real.”

Something in Tom’s gut clenches, and he focuses too hard on the blanket wrapped between his hands - some stupid woven thing that Neil loves. He’s not even sure why it’s at his apartment; that or the drawer of Neil’s things, “just in case I need to stay over to, you know, convince them”.

“Sure, yeah, fine.” He spits out, and it comes out a little vicious, a little bitter.

“What’s up?” Neil sits next to him on the couch. “Did something happen between you and Aiden?”

“No, it’s fine.” He spits the words out. “We’re fine. We’re great.”

“Perfect.” Neil replies, but his voice sounds distant, and when Tom looks up he won’t meet his gaze.

 

So they break off the engagement. The first time they each tell the story, it’s harder than it should be. And then, it just settles into a rhythm. Yes, it’s awful. Yes, Tom fucked up. Yes, they’ve talked it through.

 

* * *

  


“You know he’s in love with you,” Aurora tells Neil one night when he’s at her house for their weekly dinner (Neil cooks, Aurora buys the alcohol), after they’ve delved into the tequila.

“Who?” Neil asks - because they weren’t talking about anything, just sitting together in silence. (“What the fuck do you guys even _do?”_ Tom asked him once, and he just shrugged. It makes sense, for them.)

“Tom.” Aurora replies, as matter-of-fact as if she were reading the paper.

“Sure.” Neil replies with a snort, and she raises an eyebrow. “C’mon. Tom? In love with me?” He takes another shot. “I think you’ve had too much tequila.”

“You know, he was here a couple months ago.” She says, grabbing the bottle away from him and setting it on the floor. “Piss-drunk, could _not_ stop complaining about how guilty he felt that he hooked up with Aiden. Practically crying for you to notice.”

Neil doesn’t know what to say to that. “We were fake-engaged, Aurora. He just felt guilty that he might’ve ruined the act early.”

“Yeah, sure.” She replies dryly. “It’s not like he hooked up with Aiden to make you jealous, or anything.” And this makes Neil laugh out loud, but it doesn’t quite come out right - something about the tequila and the 2:23 am and the feeling that lingers in his stomach when he thinks about Tom.

“Do you love him?” She asks, and he doesn’t reply; he’s not sure if he’s ready to answer that.

 

“What's happening with you and Alfred?” He switches the subject, and she responds by grabbing the bottle from the floor and taking another swig.

“Everything.” She replies despondently. “Nothing. I don’t know. He just -” she breaks off, and even though her mouth is set in a grim line Neil thinks he catches a brief glimpse of tears shining in her eyes. “He can’t _fix_ me. He can’t, nobody can, and he doesn’t - he doesn’t seem to get that.”

“Do you love him?” Neil mirrors her words, and she looks over at him.

“Yeah.” She whispers, and even though she looks so lost, she says that one word like it’s the only thing in the entire world she knows is true.

 

They fall asleep on Aurora’s vinyl-clad couches, and the next morning they go back to not talking about anything at all.

 

* * *

  
  


Tom goes a whole two weeks without talking to Neil. They’re the worst two weeks of his life.

 

Neil suggested that maybe they should take some time apart - for appearance’s sake. He agreed, maybe because he thought the time would make him realize that he was not, actually, in love with his best friend, maybe because he was just feeling masochistic. Either way, it has been a whole 14 days and he doesn’t think he can take it any more. He picks up the phone to call Neil, and then he hesitates. Everything between them has been weird since the “engagement”, and he doesn’t even know what he would say. So instead, he grabs his coat and heads over to the subway.

When Neil answers his door, he looks surprised to see Tom there. That, above everything, hurts like a punch to the gut. Tom remembers when he’d show up at Neil’s house every day, or just randomly when he needed to talk - and Neil always expected him. Always knew exactly what to say. But now, things are so _off_ between them that he doesn’t even expect Tom to show up.

“I - um.” He feels stupid here, now; awkward, not knowing what to say. “I thought we should talk.”

“Alright.” Neil opens the door a little wider to let him into the flat, which dispels a bit of the anxiety in his chest. He’d had a stupid worry that Neil would have someone over - stupid, because he has no reason to intrude on Neil’s relationships. Stupid, because if he’s too chicken to tell him how he feels then he has no right to feel jealous of someone who can.

“So,” Neil asks, once he’s shut the door, “what do we need to talk about?”

“I just -” Tom sticks his hands in his pockets so he won’t fidget with them. Normally he would be sprawled across the couch by now, but he doesn’t think he can sit still right now. “I don’t think us not seeing each other is really necessary. I mean, as long as we don’t go out with a bunch of friends, who’s even going to know?”

“Sure, fine.” Neil replies. “I’m just - busy lately. So I might not see you that much, anyways.”

“Okay.” Tom says, and they lapse into an awkward silence.

“So.” Neil says, finally. “How’s Aiden doing?”

“Fine.” Tom blurts, before he even thinks about why he’s saying it. He hasn’t seen Aiden in nearly three weeks, since the night after he realized how he felt about Neil and was doing his best to make himself ignore it. (It didn’t work. It’ll never work.)

“Good.”

 

“Okay.” Tom shifts on his toes. “Well, I should go.” He gestures to the door. “I have some work to do still tonight.”

“Sure.” Neil replies, waiting off to the side with a closed expression while Tom walks out the door.

“Goodnight.” Tom calls, and Neil replies with a half-smile.

“Night.”

 

It isn’t until he’s halfway to the subway station, soaked by the rain that had come out of nowhere, that he gives up. Just _completely_ gives it up, because maybe this is going to ruin everything, but everything feels like it’s ruined right now, anyways.

 

When Neil opens the door and takes in the sight of Tom, agitated and dripping wet, his eyes widen. “Did you forget -” he starts, but before he can finish Tom takes his face in his hands and kisses him.

 

Neil stays completely still - and after a second, Tom accepts that he’s misjudged it. That he’s fucked everything up, truly and eternally, like he knew he would. He goes to pull back - and then Neil’s bringing his arms around his waist, pulling him closer, lips moving against his. He thinks he forgets to breathe for a while, with the feeling of Neil’s body flush against him, his lips tasting like nothing he’d ever imagined. He doesn’t know if he would have remembered to breathe, if Neil didn’t suddenly pull back.

“I didn’t -” he stops. Then, “was that okay?” Because Neil is pulling his arms away, not looking directly at him.

“You know, if you’re looking for a rebound, there are plenty of men out there who would be willing to fit that position.” His voice is acidic, but Tom can tell when he’s faking.

“What are you even talking about?” He asks, and Neil finally looks up at him, glaring.

 _“Aiden.”_ He spits. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but I thought you at least would think more of me than to use me as your go-to when you get dumped.”

 _“Neil.”_ Tom gapes, reaching out to grab the other man’s hand, but he jerks it away. “Is that really what you think? That since I can’t be with Aiden, I’ll use you as a backup?”

“I don’t know!” Neil bursts, and his voice shakes a little when he says it.

Tom reaches a hand out again, and then brings it back. “I broke it off with Aiden three weeks ago,” he says firmly, gripping his hands into fists. “I was only with him because I wanted to make you jealous, or because I was trying to make myself forget about you.”

“About _me?”_ Neil still sounds incredulous, and Tom lets out a frustrated huff of air.

“Jesus christ, Neil. Yes.” He doesn’t know how to stop talking, now that he’s started; he’s kept this in for too long. “I think I’ve been in love with you as long as I can remember - probably before that, too. You’re always asking why my relationships never last, why I never stay in them more than a few months? That’s why. _You’re_ why.”

Neil is staring at him with an indiscernible expression on his face.

“What?” Tom asks, suddenly self-conscious. It occurs to him that he hasn’t actually asked Neil if he feels the same way.

 

Instead of answering, Neil kisses him.

 

  
  
“Yes.” He whispers in between gasped breaths, in between the dizzy twilight filling the empty apartment around them. “Yes, this is okay.”


End file.
